Shadows
by Arkham House
Summary: In 2000, shortly after the disappearance of Cyclops at the hands of Apocalypse, Jean Grey encounters two remarkable figures in the Morlock tunnels beneath New York City.


This story takes place in the year 2000, shortly after the disappearance of Cyclops at the hands of Apocalypse.

* * *

It was, thought Jean Grey, always going to be a shot in the dark.

The thought made her laugh, though it really wasn't all that funny. But any laughter was welcome these days, because it showed her that she was still human. She paused, and as always when she pondered the word rolled it around in her mind. "Human". Was that what she was? Yes, dammit, girl, that's exactly what you are. But she couldn't bring herself even to take something as basic as this for granted anymore, and that bothered her.

When had she lost that sense of her own humanity? Was it as early as the day she first set foot in Xavier's School and met her fellow X-Men, especially Scott, for the first time? Had she still thought of herself as "human" then? Almost certainly. She was used to her powers by then, of course, knew intellectually what she was, but she never for a second thought of herself as anything but human. No, that all came a little piece at a time, day by day through many years of incomprehensible events-events that had quite literally shaken the Universe to its foundations. A path that led all the way to death, and beyond. She hadn't conquered death so much as transcended it-as though it were an absurdity that had nothing to do with her. Then she remembered where she was, and why, and this did make her laugh, out loud and hard. One thing her life had taught her was that irony was as much a part of it as any individual-Scott, Charles, Ororo, any of them. By now it almost seemed as if irony was her best friend, it comforted her so much.

The sound of her laughter echoed deep under the bowels of Manhattan Isdland. She wasn't afraid of being overheard. If there was anyone down here, they were more than welcome to challenge her. She was-to put it politely-more than able to take care of herself. Even the ghosts of the Morlocks who had been slaughtered down here wouldn't have bothered her too much. God knew she had enough experience of ghosts-hers, and others...

And if the man whom she was here to meet heard her laughter-well, that didn't concern her too much, either. He had his own ghosts-ghosts that made hers look downright homey. And she knew that _he,_ of all people, would appreciate any irony...

The tunnels surrounded her, and for a moment the memories they brought back shut out the present. The cries of the slaughtered Morlocks were almost physically ringing her in, and again she wondered why he had picked _this_ place for their meeting. She briefly scanned the area mentally-no. No, no one was here, except the clear mental image of the man she had come here to see. There were no traps, then-except for the subtle kind that came of memory-and, yes, ghosts...

Shadows refleted off the dim light, and she wondered which one hid the person she had come here to see. She ignored the dankness and smells, those damned smells that would always be associated in her mind with terror and death. For a moment she almost slipped back into the past, with those memories of fear and pain and death, when she heard the voice.

"Jean."

She stopped. The voice came from above her, and to the right- The shadows there were particularly intense, but there was a small catwalk that led up inexorably to the higher levels, and the city above. The man she was meeting must have come down this way. She looked in his direction and waved.

"I'm here."

"Yes." The figure remained cloaked in shadow, apparently not wishing to emerge into the feeble light of the tunnel. That suited Jean. This was his show; he could set the ground rules.

The silence continued for a long moment, and just when Jean was about to break the silence the figure said: "I'm sorry for your loss."

Jean almost laughed out loud. How, she wondered, had he heard about _that?_ Well, it was never wise to underestimate him- "Thank you."

"Yes," the figure said slowly. 'Do you really think Scott is dead?"

Her impulse to laugh was, if anything, even greater. How, she wondered, would this man react if she _did_ laugh? She was briefly, chillingly, tempted.

"If there's one thing I've learned about we X-Men," she said carefully, "it's that we're damned hard to kill. The others want me to 'get over it'. Well, excuse me, but I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet."

She could almost, but not quite, see the figure nod. "That's probably the wisest course. Given the reality of this Apocalypse-well, who knows?"

"Yes," she said slowly. Then her curiosity got the better of her. "Did you know anything of him during your-well, career?"

Again there was silence. "Yes," the answer finally came. "I was aware of him. I had to be, of course. But his plans were dormant then. As were so many things."

Jean didn't answer. Let him take the initiative. As always, she felt awed by her knowledge of whom she was speaking with. The very fact that she was capable of being impressed by this-indeed, that she was capable of being impressed by _anything_-reassured her, in a vague way. Made her realize that she was still-well-human...

The figure spoke again. "Things are going to get bad."

"Bad? Aren't they always?"

"Maybe," he said, choosing his words with deliberation. "But the conflict between humans and mutants-it's becoming acute. And dammit!, we can't really afford it."

"Can we ever?" she asked, slightly amused by the trace of anger she heard in the man's voice.

"Of course not," the man said. "But now! There are powers in the Universe marshalling their forces against Earth. We need humans and mutants to work _together,_ and not this goddam conflict." He paused. "That's why you're so important, Jean."

"Me?" she asked, brows arched. "Why me, kind sir?"

A dry chuckle. "You know why, Jean. Because you're who you are. You're _Phoenix,_ dammit! The entire Universe knows you. And they know you're from Earth! Do you think hat happened in the M'Kraan Crystal has been forgotten? Will _ever_ be forgotten?"

"Was that me?" she asked softly, thinking again about the word "human".

"Yes, Grey, it was you," the figure answered. "Believe me-it was _you_. _You're_ the one who saved the Universe. No, more than saved it-_transformed_ it, into something different-and better. _You,_ Grey. Not something other, not 'Phoenix', someone whom you can blame-or credit-for everything. _You_. And the Universe is well aware of that-for better or worse."

"I try not to think about it," she said almost under her breath. "I live my life, we X-Men live our lives, we do our job, try to protect humans and mutants alike-but I try not to think about it all too much. If I did-well, I'm not sure I could go on."

"Yes, you would," the figure in the shadows said. "You, of all people, would. Has there ever been a duty you've shirked?"

She smiled bitterly. "Well, I'm sure feeling like slacking off a bit these days, if you must know."

"I don't blame you," the voice said, that voice that still brought gooseflesh to Jean's skin when she heard it. "But that may ultimately be Earth's ace in the hole someday-the fact that you're Phoenix. Never forget that, Jean."

"Ace in the hole," she said, musing. "It might also be Earth's destruction, as well. Ever thought of that?"

"Well, there is that," the figure said, so off-handedly that Jean laughed. After a moment, the figure joined her.

"How do you know all this?" Jean asked. "It's been a long time since-well, since you had an active role."

"I still have my spies," the man said. "I keep my ear to the ground."

"How?" Jean asked, curiposity getting the better of her. "Oh, I know I'm not supposed to ask-our agreement-"

He laughed again, even cooler than before. "That's right. You let me know what Xavier and his people are thinking-"

"And I trust you not to abuse what I tell you," she said. "Somehow, I can't see you spilling any beans to the NSA."

Another harsh laugh, but with some real amusement behind it. "Gyrich and I aren't exactly on close terms."

"What about Fury?" she asked. "Oh, I know-I'm not supposed to be asking these questions. But are you and Nick on speaking terms?"

She could almost see the figure frown. "That, Jean, is something I can't talk about, ever. Not even to you. But it's an interesting story."

"I'll bet," she said. "You trust me implicitly not to read your mind. I think I'm honored."

"What the hell. If your word isn't worth something, whose is?"

"Thanks," she said, a crooked smile on her face. At that moment, another psychic pattern entered her field of thought. "We're not alone," she said warningly to the other figure.

"Damn," he said. "Try and get rid of whoever it is. I wonder who the hell else would be likely to be down here, anyway?"

The man walked back into the passageway to the surface, and the psychic resonance in Jean's mind hardened into a definite mental figure. She stiffened. What the devil was _he_ doing down here?

Another figure, walking slowly from the southern end of the tunnel. Walking quite normally, not making a spectacular entrance. Very well-he was here to talk, not to fight, or even to overwhelm. Possibly that was a fact she could take advantage of.

The figure emerged from the shadows of the tunnel, and into her field of vision. "Jean," he said with respect. "Ill met by moonlight."

She looked around the dimly-lit tunnel. "The moon doesn't quite make it this far down, I'm afraid. But I guess it is ill-met, if you're determined to make it so."

The other figure shrugged. Jean looked closely at him. Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, better known to everyone on Earth as Magneto. He was wearing his costume, including his helmet, but he wasn't using the costume as a weapon, as he sometimes did. This man, Jean realized, was almost here as a supplicant. Why?

"We're a long way from Genosha, Toto," she said.

He smiled tightly beneath his helmet. "Not as long as it would have been a few weeks ago, when we faced Apocalypse together."

"Yes," Jean said, realizing what he meant. "God help us, your powers are back full strength. How did that happen?"

"Does it matter?" he said. "Did you really think my abilities would be kept in check forever? I am Magneto, Jean-as you of all people should be aware. A force of nature." He paused. "In that, at least, we are alike."

"I've accepted that," she said. "I don't like it, but there we are. We are what we are. Denying reality doesn't do any good. Especially for _us_."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Magneto said. "It makes me think that if you're prepared to face reality, then perhaps you're prepared to go all the way down that path."

"I'll bet you're thinking that," she said softly. "OK, I'll bite-how did you know that I was down here?"

Magneto looked around him. "A terrible place," he said. "I was running Xavier's School at the time. There was nothing I could do. There was little the X-Men could do."

"Or X-Factor," Jean said. "We arrived too late to make any difference. Though we were able to save a few."

"As were we," Magneto said with a sigh. "My God, Jean-that man I was then...I do not underdstand him at all. Oh, yes." he said, putting up a hand. "I know that Chales and Moira McTaggert had played with my mind when I was reduced to infancy, took my sense of personal responsibility away from me if you will...but to be frank, I think the damage they did has been exaggerated by me somewhat. No, that man, the head of the school-he was _me,_ at that time, for better or worse." He looked right at her. "And to answer your question, I saw you enter the tunnel at the secret entrance, the one only we mutants know. _I_ of course know of it...I had come all the way from Genosha, just to see you."

"Hmmm. Am I honored?"

"I rather think you are," he said. "You see, Jean, a time of testing is coming. For us all. And I want you to have a chance to survive."

" 'Testing'?"

"Yes," he said. "You see it every day, Jean. More-and yet more-pogroms. More and more hatred, more and more Senator Kellys. It cannot be tolerated anymore. And soon-it shall not be."

"So it is coming, then-your war against the world, once and for all."

"It is." The simple declaration made Jean wince. So what they had been fearing their whole lives was finally about to come to pass. Magneto, with a mutant army at his back, declaring war on humanity.

"Only the ravages of the Legacy Virus are staying my hand," he said. "But I have faith in Charles, in Dr McTaggert, in McCoy. They will find a way to beat it. An when they do, the time will be ripe for certain matters to be decided once and for all."

"Well, is telling one of your cheif enemies all about your plans some sort of strategic coup, the subtleties of which I'm not quite grasping?"

He laughed softly. "The fact of the coming war, Jean, is something that can hardly be lost on anyone-especially you. Which is why I'm giving you a chance to survive it. The other race traitors must take their chances-as must you, should you choose to stand beside them. But I do not wish to have you as an enemy."

"Because I'm a 'force of nature'?" she asked, a slight edge of mockery to her voice.

"Because you are what you are," he said simply. "Phoenix. The only one who might conceivably be my rival as leader of the world's mutants."

"Oh?" she asked brightly. "I'm not even the leader of the X-Men, Magnus."

He made a brusque gesture with his hand. "Irrelevant. That's only because you've never wanted to be...which is your weakness, by the way. But no. Charles, Cyclops, Storm-none of them are my rivals, not as you could be. None of them are avatars of primal power. None of then have _transformed_ the Universe into a design of their own making. None of them are Phoenix."

She felt a flush of sheer terror, let it wash over and through her. Magneto! He was speaking to her in exactly the terms which the other man, the one who summoned her here, had used... God. Sweet God. Was it really all this cut-and-dried, this obvious? Was there any escape from all this, this side of the grave? Was there any escape, on _either_ side of the grave? What was it Hank had told her once? "You have to be what you have to be." And what was it Spider-Man had said, that time...? "With great power comes great responsibility." And had all this been programmed since the moment of her conception? Or perhaps long before?

She sighed. The shadows in this hellish place seemed deeper than ever, and it wasn't merely because of the depths of the tunnels. For a moment she felt as she had when Scott had asked her to marry him that first time. She _couldn't_, because all of time and space had seemed to conspire to make it inevitable. She hadn't been able to face that, and had to come to her own realization, in her own time, as to what she wanted, as opposed to what the damned Universe seemed to expect of her. And now, being with these two utterly different men-but men with odd similarities, nonetheless-she realized that she had never really understood, to the depths of her soul, the meaning of exactly what she was. From the time she was born-and perhaps long before; would she ever really understand this?-she was, had been, Phoenix. That power, that _responsibility_, was meant for her, and her alone. What did it all mean, to their day-to-day lives? Hell-what did it mean to the genetic conflict about to engulf the planet? Or even more importantly, to Earth's relationship to the Universe as a whole? Could she understand all this? Was she even _supposed_ to understand all this?

Forget it, girl. The big issues were out there, and she could live her life and never really get to the bottom of them. Besides-today's issues were plenty, in and of themselves.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, Eric, I _am_ Phoenix. And I suppose I could be your chief rival for leadership of the world's mutants, if I chose." She looked this man, whom she had always opposed and always respected, right in the eye. "But that is not my choice. Whatever I might be, I am a free human being with free will to choose my role. What will be, in the larger sense, will be. I can't command all the tides of this world, Magnus. But I _can_ choose how and when to fight my battles, and whom to fight them with." She laughed, and the sound, as it had earlier, echoed down the tunnels where screams and death once reigned. "Just as you choose your path, my old enemy. I can't stop you from taking whatever path you will. But remember-I am an X-Man, and I will always be there to stop you. And I wish no mercy, or special considerations, from you." She paused. "And don't you expect any from me."

He removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. His gaze, she thought, was shrewd and almost amused.

"Well done, Jean,": he said. "I'm almost tempted to applaud. This, then, is your final word?"

"It is," she said. "As you knew it would be."

Magneto shrugged. "I suppose I did. But I felt compelled to ask you. I do not want to fight you-you, of all people. But I shall do what I have to." He looked around the tunnels. "As you say-those larger tides in the Universe, those which contain the concept of the Phoenix-who knows what they will signify, in the end. But the battles of this day are what matter now. And you must take your chances then, Jean Grey. When we are done-then, we may see where we stand in relation to the larger forces." He smiled. "Needless to say, a world ruled by us mutants stands the best chance of dealing with those forces. Though I don't suppose you agree."

"I believe in free will," she said. "In the human soul to choose good and evil. Where that leaves us in the end-well, that's for events to decide."

"Well said, Jean," came an unexpected voice. Jean started; she had forgotten the presence of the third man, the one whom she had come to this place to see. But here he was, having climbed down to the level of the tunnels and approaching from the north. He remained hidden in the darkness of the tunnel for the moment, just a shadow gaining definition as he approached the two mutants.

Magneto looked at Jean. "My God! Who the devil is this?" He turned to the approaching figure. "Have you been here all this while?"

"I have," the figure said in that familiar voice, a hint of malicious laughter in it. "And very interesting it's been, overhearing your little discussion."

"Sir," Jean said, "are you sure you should be-"

"Encountering the enemy?" the figure asked, and Jean nodded. "Well, I don't think any harm's likely to come to me. And if it does-well, I've been through worse. And at my age, what the hell difference does it make, anyway?"

Magneto frowned. "I should have sensed him there...is he a mutant?"

"No, no," the man said. "But you've been concentrating on other things, Magneto. One old human could slip through your cracks." The man laughed cynically. "Every once in awhile, I like to see the effect I have on people. Remember the first time I showed myself to you, Jean?"

"I'm not likely to forget," Jean said, as the figure emerged from the shadows and walked up to them. Jean heard Magneto give a sharp hiss as he got a good look at the newcomer.

"Holy Mother of God," he said softly. He turned to Jean. "This-is this some sort of trick?"

"I'm afraid not," she said cheerfully. "This isn't a robot, or a clone, or Mystique, or anything like that. This is exactly whom he appears to be. Surprise, Eric."

The third man walked right up to them. He was old-past eighty-with white hair and a heavily wrinkled face. But his eyes remained a bright icy blue, and his identity was unmistakeable.

John Fitzgerald Kennedy looked right at Magneto. "Well, you're sure whipping up one helluva storm right now, aren't you?"

* * *

Magneto recovered nicely. He gave Jean a bemused smile. "I'm impressed, Jean. No-really. It takes a lot to impress me, but this qualifies." He turned to the old man. "Sir-of all the people in the world, you're about the last I ever expected to see. Well done, and I mean that."

Kennedy laughed. "Well, thank you. It's always good to be reminded, isn't it, not to take _anything_ for granted?"

"It is," Magneto said. "And for that lesson, I thank you." He paused. "You know-I have a thousand questions. But they're mainly for my own curiosity, and that doesn't really matter right now. But in time-if time for such a thing should ever come again-I hope the opportunity for a civilized meeting may come, and those questions can be asked, and answered. I just wanted you to know that, sir."

Kennedy bowed slightly. "The honor would be mine, I assure you."

"Yes," Magneto said softly. "You know-I suspect that you have some connection to the events that are about to engulf the world. But I also sense that you, your people-whoever _they_ may be-are more observers than participants. At least for now."

Kennedy shrugged. "I can't talk too much about it, you understand."

Magneto laughed. "Perhaps not. But I also sense that when this is all over, you and your people will still be there. When I have won my victory, there still may be much for us to discuss-and _not_ just for my curiosity's sake."

"You have to win that victory first," the old man said. "And you're far from doing that."

"It will come," Magneto said. He turned to Jean. "So, Jean-that is your last word?"

"It is."

"Then so be it." Without another word, he flew out of the tunnel using magnetic lines of energy. He was out of sight before the other two even knew he was gone.

They were silent for some time. Jean then turned to Kennedy. "Why did you do that? Reveal yourself to him, that is."

"It was just an impulse," he said. "I just felt that it was right. And I think it turned out to be, too. Don't you?"

"Maybe so," she said. She looked carefully down the tunnel in the direction which Magneto had gone. "It certainly makes the game more interesting."

Kennedy grunted. "I wonder what Xavier would say, if _he_ knew."

"He'd have a harder time believing it than Magneto would. Despite everything he's seen, he's oddly innocent in a lot of ways."

"Well, I'll have an interesting report to make back to my people," Kennedy said. "I wonder how much speculating he'll do about that-jiust who 'my people' are."

"Probably no more than I do," Jean said. "I trust you, Jack, or I wouldn't be working with you. But if you're involved in what I think you are-well, I don't necessarily trust all of _them_."

Kennedy's eyebrows rose. "Oh? You're not depending on anything gotten from my mind, of course?"

"Of course." Silence. "Answer me a question, Jack."

"Maybe."

"Why haven't you had a younger clone of yourself made, and transferred your personality into it? I know it's possible, and I even suspect that it's been offered to you. Why not?"

Kennedy laughed-a bitter laugh, Jean thought. "God, Grey-remind me never to play poker with you... Well, yes, it's been offered. And yes, I'll probably be doing it one of these days. I have no real desire to die soon." For some reason, that thought seemed amusing to them, and they both laughed uproariously.

"But seriously," he said. "Everyone forgets this, but despite those human frailties of mine of which so much has been made, I _am_ a believing Catholic. Switching bodies around, making clones to receive your consciousness- I dunno. It doesn't seem _right_, somehow."He paused. "Oh, well. I suppose it'll happen. When the time comes, I don't suppose I'll let my conscience get in my way." He paused again. "And Grey? When that day comes-if Scott is still AWOL-we might have a very different relationship, indeed."

Jean looked at him, then began to sing softly. "Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you...happy _birrrthday_, Mr President..."

Kennedy snickered, then hugged her. "God-you're good for me, Jean. If nothing else, our relationship has given me vitality and life. Many thanks."

"Anytime," she replied, as Kennedy started to head back to the catwalk.

"Well," he said as he walked, "I've found out what I wanted to know. He _is_ serious. Well, the world will survive. It's survived a lot." He reached the catwalk and was at the entrance to the passageway above. "We'll talk again, Jean, when the crisis has passed. There'll be new circumstances to consider then. And who knows? Perhaps I'll be that young man again." He paused, looked thoughtful. "Without my back problems. Without the goddam Addison's... Maybe it'll be worth it." He turned into the passageway. "Thanks for coming, Jean. Be well."

Just as he was disappearing, Jean called out. "Hold it! Jack!"

He turned back to her. "Yeah?"

What the hell. Ask it. "What really happened in Dallas?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, you know-if I told you, you'd never believe me." And he laughed, long and hard, as he vanished into the passageway, and Jean Grey's laughter joined his in the Morlock tunnel underneath Manhattan.


End file.
